Requiem for a Soldier
by Suffering Soldier
Summary: For some, death is the only peace they can imagine.


Right engine was shot to Hell.

Left was leaking so much fuel that he'd only have enough time to hit the ground anyway.

Yet, even as his Shortsword fighter-bomber plummeted to earth and the pilot frantically tried the flaps, a single thought rang hollowly through his mind.

_How stupid._

A peculiar thought to have, and an amazingly tame one when put into perspective with the situation.

However, he wasn't thinking about the situation; rather, he was considering himself.

Despite the fact he was careening toward the African savanna at a hopelessly high speed, he continued to fight the inevitable.

Given, it wasn't the human thing to lie down in the face of impending death, but the trooper couldn't ignore the seemingly peaceful numbness that was creeping through his veins like a poison.

Yet another underlying fact remained. This man was not an aviator, whose sole purpose was the engage the enemy from the seat of an aircraft such as this one. Rather, he was a Helljumper. An infantryman meant to remain airborne just long enough to hit the ground. It was perhaps the final, twisted satire of a world soon to be rid of him.

"Charlie-3-4 to Charlie-3-1," Adam called into the radio, his voice ringing hollowly in his own ears. He knew there was little his flight leader could do, but perhaps that these last moments wouldn't be quite so terrible if he didn't feel so dreadfully empty.

This was supposed to be the last mission of the war, finally pushing the Covenant into the massive excavation pit they'd been digging around a Forerunner artifact, "the Ark" he'd heard it called during the briefing. There they'd be incinerated by airstrikes. It was to be the last mission of the war, and for him it soon would be.

He'd be one of the millions honored after the war was won. Just another name engraved on a memorial. Just another marble tombstone.

He sighed and shook his head, the first ounce of emotion to seep through his steely facade since he'd closed the cockpit door. He released the joystick and collapsed back into the worn chair he sat in. He was so tired of it all. Of the war.

But he'd done his duty nevertheless. Through the loss of his family. Through the loss of his squad. Through the loss of his friends. He'd just done his duty.

Adam glanced up from his hands and back toward the bleak situation he was set to collide with.

He was on a collision-course with the base of the titanic tower at the center of the excavation site. Even if by some miracle he survived the crash, he'd find himself surrounded by the enemy. He flipped his radio to FleetCom and opened a channel.

"Charlie-3-4 to Overlord."

"This is Overlord, go ahead Charlie-2." the flat voice of a male operator came across his headset, his only company in what would seem to be the end.

"Charlie-3-4 is hit." he stated callously. "And going down."

When no response came he finished, his voice still the same cold sound that the trooper could hardly believe was his own.

"Lieutenant Clancy signing out for the last time." he spoke, his voice hushed but filled with the same tiredness he'd had for months.

And he was again alone.

After a moment of silence aside from the shaking of the Shortsword, the channel closed and it seemed the sound of the crumbling fighter would be the young trooper's only eulogy.

Adam laughed, surprising himself. It was the bitter, hoarse cackle of a doomed man.

He'd die as so many others had; fighting a losing war against an enemy they didn't understand.

But it wasn't the thought of being forgotten that disturbed him so greatly. The single thing that haunted him—that refused him the peace he so deeply longed for—was what he felt as the cold embrace of the Reaper grew stronger.

There was no way to describe the load that should've been crushing him, or the dread that should have been consuming him.

But he felt _nothing_.

No sadness.

No fear.

Just the same numbness he'd carried since before he could remember.

So he sat there, inhumanly cold, waiting for the end to grant peace to his weary mind.

Wishing only that he could feel something.

Wishing only that he could feel the _pain_.

**A/N: This was initially going to be that start of a much longer work, but it was simply a minor project that never would've gotten done. I was told the first chapter was very well-written and dramatic, so I polished it into a brief one shot.**


End file.
